


Missing

by GrimHeaperr



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Detective AU, Late 1920s, M/M, Sex, Slice of Life, blood mention, detective!shiro, hinted past workplace abuse, there's mention of a murder in here, this fic is Keith centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 14:00:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12191307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrimHeaperr/pseuds/GrimHeaperr
Summary: Akira Kogane went missing in the late 1910s. Ten years later, he’s a new man with a new life, but a detective is out to find him, just not for the reason he thinks.(A late 1920s slice-of-life AU)





	Missing

**Author's Note:**

> I used this fic as an excuse to practice writing sex lol.
> 
> I tried sticking to the late 1920s, but not too sure if it stayed consistent.

Keith pulled a cigarette from its pack, placing the brown filter in his mouth before patting himself down for a matchbox. He struck the match and lit his cigarette with the fire, the smell of it burning the air around him. He shook the match and ditched it in an ashtray and took a drag to let the smoke choke his lungs before he exhaled.

The diner he sat in was a long forgotten lunch car. The rusted metal building sat at the edge of the train tracks that ran through the town, smoke lazily drifting from the open back windows of the kitchen. Sky blue paint chipped on the outside and flaked onto the plants bursting through the concrete foundation. Dark brown leather cushioned barstools and booths, the hardwood of the tables dull from years of use. The main counter had scratches and water rings, the register that sat atop of it was nothing more than a lock box and a scratch pad. Lee Anne’s diner was a recent favorite of Keith’s.

The single waiter, Lance, placed a black coffee and a bowl of sugar next to the folded newspaper on Keith’s table.

“Thanks,” he grunted out. The waiter simply nodded, not sparing him another glance.

Outside, the sun sank behind the horizon, the glaring reds and oranges fading to the dark blues and purples of the oncoming night. Stars twinkled dully behind the brown tint of the windows. While he was looking, Keith’s eyes squinted at the sudden headlights blinding him.

A black Model A Ford pulled into the parking space beside Keith’s maroon Oakland. He couldn’t make out the driver until the engine cut, and Keith noticed the unmistakable gold badge on the man’s chest.

Keith turned away and feigned disinterest. He ignored his nervous hand and began to fix his coffee.

The bell above the glass-door entrance dinged.

A tall man with slick black hair under a trilby walked in. His black button-up was decorated with grey vertical pinstripes, a solid black vest covered his chest and sported a shield with the local police department emblem. His pressed pants matched his button-up and on his waist sat a leather belt that carried silver hand-cuffs.

“Good evening, detective,” Lance greeted, an edge to his voice. The expired inspection certificate was hidden behind a potted plant. “How can I help you?”

Keith watched as the man pulled something from his pocket – a paper? – and unfolded it.

“I was wondering if you’ve seen this man, sir,” his husky voice said, years of smoking scratched his throat and gave his voice its own edge.

Lance looked at the photo briefly before he shook his head. “Can’t say I have. Not many people come to the diner,” he said, eyes drifting briefly to their only patron that night, “But I’ll keep an eye out for him if you’d like.”

“That’d be great,” the detective said. His gaze shifted from Lance to the only other body in the front part of the diner.

Keith absentmindedly stirred his coffee with the silver spoon before he tapped it on the edge. The sound drew the detective over, his footsteps loud on the linoleum flooring.

“Pardon me, sir,” Keith briefly made eye contact with the detective. His features were sharp; onyx eyes looked tired in the yellow lighting. The detective took off his hat to expose wrinkles on his forehead and white streaks of hair in the brown-black. He looked to be in his mid-forties. “Can you spare a couple’a minutes?”

Keith placed the cigarette in the ashtray before he took a sip of his coffee.  _Not sweet enough._  Keith dumped another spoonful of sugar before answering, “Sure thing, officer.”

“Detective,” the man corrected before taking a seat in the booth and placing his hat in front of him. The man showed Keith the photo.

The boy in the photo looked to be in his mid to late teens. His black hair rested curly on his slim shoulders. His milky skin was unmarked; no scars, no birthmarks present. The boy wore a faded red shirt and his eyes looked to be full of life. In the background, a train yard displayed out-of-service carts and various railroad workers.

Keith looked at the ghost of his former self.

“I’ve never seen that boy before, Detective…”

“Shirogane,” the detective filled in. He pulled a black leather wallet from his pocket and showed his I.D. to Keith, who looked taken aback.

The man’s name was Takashi Shirogane, and he was in his early thirties.

“You seem surprised,” humor laced his words.

“I expected you to be a bit… older,” Keith answered, smiling. Detective Shirogane smiled back. He flipped his wallet close and shrugged it into his pocket. “How long have you been a Detective, Mr. Shirogane?”

“Shiro,” he said, “I’ve been on the force for five years now as of today.”

“Congratulations.”

Shiro nodded his thanks. “What’s your name, sir?”

“Keith Collard.”

“Mind if I see some identification?”

Annoyed, Keith plucked the still-red cigarette from the ashtray. He tucked the filter between his lips again as he shimmed his wallet from his back pocket. He pulled the I.D. from the tight leather and slid it across the wood table.

Shiro inspected the worn identification card, glancing at the sepia photo and then at the man. Suspicion roused in Shiro as the man in the photo and the man in front of him differed slightly; no scar was apparent in the photo, and the man’s face was partially obstructed due to a coffee stain.

“Can I ask about the scar?”

Keith took a long drag, contemplating. “You just did.”

Shiro chuckled, a little forced. He gave the card back, and Keith shoved it back into his wallet, uncaring. Keith pulled his cigarette from his lips with his index and middle fingers forming a ‘V’. He blew smoke in the Detective’s face, his lips slightly parted. He didn’t miss Shiro’s gaze on his lips as the detective slid from the booth. Keith watched as he straightened his vest and pants and placed his hat back on his head.

“Get that card updated, Mr. Collard,” he said simply.

Keith smirked, cigarette still balanced in the ‘V’ shape of his fingers.

“Yes, sir.”

Detective Shirogane left Lee Anne’s with less information than he had hoped. Keith hadn’t seen him in the days after, but two weeks later, Detective Shirogane walked through those glass doors again, this time without the badge and uniform. A purple undershirt highlighted his upper torso, with black suspenders racing down and contenting to casual black slacks.

“Detective Shirogane,” Lance greeted, all smiles, “I missed you this morning, is today your day off?”

“That’s right,” he laughed, waving a crossword book at him, “I’m here for leisure tonight.” Shiro’s eyes scanned the nearly-vacant diner and spotted the familiar powder-blond hair in the corner booth. Red dressed the man’s slim-muscular torso and a black tie hung loosely around his neck.

Shiro took a seat at the front counter and flipped his book to the crossword he was doing earlier that day.

Lance set a tall glass of water for him. “Any leads in your case, detective?”

Shiro took a drink of the cold water. “No, but we finally have the boy’s name.”

“What’s his name?”

“Akira Kogane.”

Keith crushed the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray.

“An immigrant?”

Shiro shook his head. “Born down in California, but he went missing over ten years ago.”

“Ten years ago?” Lance echoed, mouth agape. “Seem like they’re sending you on a goose chase, Detective.”

Shiro chuckled. “I thought so too at first,” Shiro’s eyes flicked over to where Keith sat, the man busy eating his burger, “But a lead sent the trail over here. Not sure what this boy – well, man – is running from, but must’a been something bad to have him end up in Nowhere, Texas.”

A bloodied memory clouded Keith’s mind as he bit into his burger. The crack of his wrist being broken echoed faintly in his ear, his scream muffled by a gag.

Keith finished his plate, leaving a crisp bill next to it.

“Leaving already, Mr. Collard?”

Keith froze. He slowly looked up to Detective Shirogane, the detective’s face pulled into a funny smile, his head resting on a closed fist. He looked so sure of himself and so handsome, and Keith couldn’t decide what he hated more.

“Yes,” Keith answered curtly, even though he did not have anywhere to be.

“Do you think you can spare a moment and sit with me?”

Lance looked at Keith, who in turn looked at Lance. They shared a nervous glance before Keith met those knowing onyx eyes again.

“Sure, Detective Shirogane.”

“Shiro,” he said again, like how he said it all those days ago.

Keith begrudgingly took a seat beside Shiro, shoulders tense. Shiro noticed, but his intentions were pure tonight. He only wanted company.

“Did you attend a party this evening, Mr. Collard?”

“Huh?”

Shiro gestured to Keith’s clothing, and Keith muttered an embarrassed “Oh.”

“Yes. It was in celebration of my friend’s daughter,” Keith said, pushing a blonde strand of hair behind his ear, “She turned five years old today.”

Lance served Shiro and Keith a hot coffee as a courtesy. He placed a bowl of sugar and a spoon next to Keith. They said their thanks.

“How wonderful. How was the party?”

Keith gave the detective an odd look, but the man seemed genuinely interested. Keith divulged as he fixed his coffee.

“It was fun, well, as fun as a child’s birthday party can be,” he said, “I had to help with decorations, but it wasn’t much. Anything extravagant was too expensive. We settled on using left-over fabric to liven up the place; the tables, the drapes, small decorated bows… her daughter was thrilled. We even managed to buy her a cake instead of just making her favorite food,” Keith smiled down at his hands thoughtfully. Allura’s daughter was a small, sickly child. He loved her as if she were her own, and parts of his wages went to buying her medicine and helping her see a doctor more often. It drained his savings sometimes, but Keith knew how to live without another’s help, without a lot of money. He’d be damned if he let Allura and her daughter suffer through that pain.

“You really love this little girl, don’t you?” Shiro had said this softly, voice showing an unknown warmth Keith has never heard.

Keith looked up from his hands. Shiro wore a smile that was directed at Keith. Keith felt a blush creep from his neck to his ears and turned away. He let out a breath.

“I do,” he answered honestly.

Shiro felt his heartbeat.  _He’s a good man._

“Is she yours?” Shiro took a sip from his coffee.

Keith shook his head. “Her father died in a storage fire before she was born. I’ve been helping my friend take care of her daughter ever since she’d been born.”

“I didn’t really take you for a family man, Mr. Collard,” Shiro joked in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Keith didn’t care for Allura’s late cheating husband. Instead, Keith smirked, resting his head on his hand to look lazily at Shiro.

“What did you take me as, Detective?”

_A flirt._  Shiro raised an eyebrow, a playful smile on his lips. “Figured you were the kind’a guy to keep to himself. Work all day, come here to unwind, then go to sleep to start the next day and finish it the same way.”

Keith turned away to laugh, and the laugh echoed in the empty diner. It rang in Shiro’s ears, full and happy.

“You’re not wrong, Detective. From the looks of it,” Keith nodded to Shiro’s casual clothes and the crossword puzzle book, “I take it you’re the same way.”

“Guilty as charged,” Shiro answered, “Some days it’s a drink in a bar, some days it’s a coffee and,” Lance came from the kitchen, carrying Shiro’s usual plate of bacon and eggs, “Breakfast for dinner.”

“It’s a simple life, Detective,” Keith said. He took a gulp of his coffee and raised the porcelain cup, the coffee sloshing but not spilling, “Maybe in our next lives, there’d be something more.”

Shiro laughed. “Maybe, but let’s enjoy the lives we live while we still can.” He raised his coffee cup and clinked it against Keith’s, the sound of porcelain-on-porcelain sharp in their ears.

Shiro and Keith talked in hushed voices the rest of the night until Keith had to leave. He said his goodnight’s to the detective, to  _Shiro,_  to Lance, and to the cook he learned was named Hunk. Keith went home, to bed, and then like clockwork, he worked in the motor factory until sunset and drove to Lee Anne’s. Another couple of days passed uneventfully until he pulled into the parking lot of Lee Anne’s after a hard day at work. The familiar black Model A was already parked. When Keith exited his car, he could see the familiar silhouette that sat at the counter.

The door dinged when he entered, the cool A/C of the diner chilled his sweat.

Shiro turned, and it took a moment for him to recognized Keith. His mouth formed a teasing smirk.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in your work clothes, Mr. Collard,” Shiro said as Keith took the stool beside him.

Keith’s work clothes consisted of a pair of dirty black work boots, oil-stained overalls, and a light blue collared short-sleeve. A cigarette balanced between his ear and temple, his hair tie kept his blond mop of hair back and a dirty red bandana kept stay hairs away from his eyes. He didn’t typically walk around in public in his work clothes, but today had been especially grueling, and Keith knew that if he didn’t go straight to Lee Anne’s he was never going to come at all that night.

“I typically like to wash before I go out in public, but today was a little harder than normal.”

Shiro eyed him curiously. Keith’s arm was bandaged from his right elbow to his wrist, and an oil smudge adorned his neck and forehead. Shiro pulled out his handkerchief from his breast pocket and offered it to Keith.

“Oh, it’s alright, it’ll stain,” Keith protested.

“I insist.”

Keith took the purple handkerchief, inspected it to find a silver “T” embroidered on the bottom. “Thanks, Shiro,” Keith said shyly, wiping the oil on his forehead until it was nothing more than a light grey mark. Keith left the mark on his neck alone. “I’ll wash this and give it back, I can’t promise it’ll come out though.”

“Keep it, I have others.”

Keith didn’t mean to seem impressed, but he was. He folded the handkerchief and put it into his overall chest pocket. Lance set a cup before him and poured fresh coffee.

“We don’t have any sugar today, Mr. Collard. The shipment was late. Is milk alright?”

“That’s fine.” Lance disappeared into the kitchen and Keith turned to Shiro, finally taking in his disheveled appearance.

Shiro’s white button-up shirt was half undone, exposing a muscular chest under a white muscle shirt. His suit jacket was folded and occupied the chair to his right, his hat and tie sitting on top of it. His normally slick hair was frayed, and his black slacks had a dark stain on the knees. A notebook sat in front of him, handwriting unreadable.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this, either. What happened?”

Shiro took a long drink of his coffee, finishing it and watching as the grounds sloshed on the bottom. “A body showed up at the riverbank today. It resembled my missing man.”

“God,” Keith breathed. He was relieved, but he wondered if it showed. He didn’t care about the body but cared if it’ll get Shiro to close the case. Keith wanted to avoid jail-time or prison, told himself to stay away from the cops, but Shiro was different. Shiro was easy to get along with, and Keith would’ve liked to think they were friends. It was a doomed friendship since Keith would never reveal his real name to anyone, not even to Allura. He left his past behind; buried the hatchet along with the body and wanted it to stay that way. He was okay with washing the blood from his hands every day. He can live with the guilt.

“Is it your guy?” Keith asked as he put the cigarette that his ear held into his mouth.

Shiro shrugged. “I couldn’t get a good look.  I kneeled in that water, but the body must’a been in the river for a week or so. The body matched what the guys back in the department said the boy would’a looked like after ten years.”

“What do you think?” Keith lit his cigarette with a match from its box. He inhaled.

“I think it’s a different John,” Shiro said after a long pause, “I feel like the guy I’m looking for is right in front of me.”

Keith kept his poker face as he breathed out the grey smoke. He usually smoked his nerves away and tonight it wasn’t working, but he’d sure as hell keep trying.

“What makes you say that?” Keith asked in spite himself. Dangerous. He was walking a dangerous line.

Shiro looked over his shoulder, traced the dirty windows with his eyes and made sure Lance and Hunk were talking in the kitchen.

“I think you know what I mean, Mr. Collard.”

Keith didn’t say anything. The two sat in silence. Keith smoked his cigarette until it was just the butt. He tossed the butt into an ashtray nearby and put another cigarette in his mouth. Keith struck a match and lit it. Lance came and refilled their coffees and quickly retreated back into the kitchen.

Keith formed a ‘V’ with his fingers to pull the cigarette away from his lips. “What’s your proof?”

Shiro flipped to a page in his notebook. “Your timeline, Mr. Collard.”

Keith was unaware of Shiro’s snooping.

“You’ve been working at the motor factory for seven years, first three years working odd jobs. There are some old photos of you from that friend’a yours.” Shiro didn’t look at Keith as he pulled the photos from the front of his notebook.

Keith looked at the photos with disdain. It showed him a few years after he left California, his hair still black. The next one was of him with his dyed hair, a pregnant Allura and her late husband at his side. Keith didn’t bother with the other photos. Allura didn’t say anything about Shiro talking to her. He felt a pang of betrayal pump his heart.

“She didn’t know a thing,” Keith said, tone serious.

“I know.”

“Are you going take me in?”

“No.”

Keith looked at Shiro then. The detective gathered the photos, neatly tapping them on the counter before slipping them back into his notebook.

“I wasn’t hired to take you in, Mr. Kogane. I was hired to make sure you were still alive.”

Keith choked on his sob, the smoke in his lungs made him cough awkwardly.

“Your father hired me to make sure you were alright. He wanted you to call him the moment I found you.” Shiro scribbled down a phone number on a blank page and ripped the page out. “It’s up to you if you want to call him, but ten years is a pretty long time without a letter or visit,” Shiro slide the paper over to Keith.

“I know your story Keith, and I won’t say a word.”

Keith forced himself to look at Shiro then, almost in disbelief. Shiro looked at him sadly, eyes filled with concern or pity, Keith didn’t know, but Shiro’s expression made him crumble.

He spent so long in hiding, so long running from what he’d done. He was only seventeen then, and he was sure he was going to get killed for what he’d done. His boss was a cruel man, pushing Keith more than he did the other workers. His boss broke his wrist when he was sixteen and nearly killed him the following year, except Keith killed him first. He struck the man with a hatchet when his boss reached for his gun. He’d been so afraid of what he had done, he left that same night. Akira Kogane said goodbye to his sleeping father and left without a note. He walked and walked and walked in the dead of night and walked and walked and walked in the heat of the day. He only had three dollars in his pockets and when he got to Texas, he took every job he could. Built himself up here in a factory town, grabbed his own place, took care of a child that wasn’t his. He had friends and different life, but he couldn’t run forever.

It was the end of his life, and Shiro showed him mercy that he didn’t deserve, that Keith convinced himself he didn’t deserve.

Shiro draped an arm around Keith, leaning his head on Keith’s unnatural blond hair. He rubbed the man’s arm and let him cry onto his shoulder. Shiro didn’t blame Keith for running or blame him for the death of his old boss. Shiro listened to Mr. Kogane’s tired voice explain everything, and no one in Keith’s hometown blamed Keith for acting the way he did. He was afraid. He was defending himself. Mr. Kogane had mentioned that had he known his son was being treated like that, he would have killed the man himself.

On record, Shiro had to disagree. Off record, Shiro would have a few ideas on how to get away with it.

“A part of my job is to take you back to California,” he said softly but held his grip on Keith as he jerked, “I know you got a kid down here, got a life, and going to California doesn’t have to be permanent, but you should give your father a peace of mind.”

Keith wiped away his tears and composed himself.

“I’ll go,” he croaked out. He was scared, but at least Shiro would be there.

The rest of the night, Shiro talked about himself to keep Keith’s mind off the inevitable. He talked until blues and purples of night slowly shifted to the pinks and reds of the early morning. Shiro was to talk to Keith’s boss later that day to plan for a week off in the coming months.

Keith worked his job, went to the diner, rinse and repeat. He talked with Shiro more often outside of the diner; the two have spent their evenings and weekends together. When it was time to leave, Shiro picked Keith up before the sun woke up. Keith’s bag was nothing more than a small duffle and a torn backpack. Shiro put Keith’s luggage in his trunk next to his suitcase in the back seat. They got their train tickets and bedding assignments.

The entire journey, Keith had fitful nights of sleep. In the mornings, Shiro would occupy Keith’s time by telling him stories that happened to him while working as a police officer and a detective. At night, hidden by the low gas lighting, the two would hold hands in their train car. The closer they got to California, the longer the nights got and when Keith would fall asleep on Shiro’s shoulder, the detective would help the younger man into his bed compartment. Shiro wasn’t sure if Keith ever noticed the kiss he would place on the top of Keith’s right hand, but even if he did, Keith wouldn’t have minded the comfort.

When they made it to California, Shiro carried their bags as Keith embraced his father, long and tight to make up for the ten years he was missing.

An officer drove the three of them to the hotel they were meant to stay at, and Shiro said that he would take care of things and visit Mr. Kogane’s home later.

Keith walked with his dad to the outskirts of town where their small home sat crooked on the dry, cracked earth. The sun was setting when they sat with glasses of iced lemonade on the front porch, talking about what happened ten years ago and what his father had been up to. They talked well into the night. They talked after all the lights from the scattered houses turned off, until the cicadas stopped their songs and the crescent moon hung high overhead. Keith talked to make up for his ten years of silence, his lemonade watered down and forgotten by his feet.

Mr. Kogane let out a scratchy laugh as the sunrise peaked over the horizon. Keith’s heart squeezed as he let out a soft chuckle.

“I’m glad you came, Akira,” his father said. Keith looked at his calloused hands, the hands that looked exactly like his father’s. “Or, Keith, as ‘m told.”

“You can call me whatever you want, dad.”

Mr. Kogane hummed and took a drink from his watery-lemonade. “Keith suits ya.”

Keith hugged his father again as they heard the scratch of gravel. Keith pulled away as a car door slammed.

Mr. Kogane got up, grunting as he did so, and brushed the dirt from his pants.

“Detective Shirogane,” he stuck his hand out, and Shiro took it.

“I’m glad to see y’all been talking, Mr. Kogane.”

Keith walked up and stood beside his dad. His father clapped him on the shoulder. Mr. Kogane smiled a weary, happy smile. “I’m just glad ya found my boy.”

Shiro discussed payment with Keith’s father as Keith walked around his childhood home. It was just as he left it. Photos, old drawings, and tacky knick-knacks decorated the wood paneling along with certificates. His father’s recliner was torn, revealing the yellow spongey cushion of its insides. The carpet had more stains and ashes then he remembered. He walked down the narrow hall to his old bedroom and opened the door.

The bottom of the door left a clear trail as dust collected on its other side. Keith’s red and white stripped bedsheets were still piled in the corner, his bare desk had a thick layer of dust. Old toys and baseball cards littered the floor. From taking one look, Keith knew his father hadn’t been in his room since he left ten years ago.

“I couldn’t bring m’self to open that door,” he said from behind him. His father sniffled. Tears pricked Keith’s eyes. “Knew ya weren’t gonna be behind it.”

Keith turned to face his dad. His father’s face was aged more than it should have been. His features were tired, but the tenseness of his shoulders was no longer present. Mr. Kogane’s life had started again the moment his son stepped off that train.

“I’m sorry,” Keith finally said. And he truly was.

His father took one step into his son’s old bedroom, then another until Keith was wrapped in his strong embrace.

“Ain’t nuthin’ to be sorry ‘bout,” he said in a whisper.

Shiro took Keith to an early lunch, Mr. Kogane saying to go without him because he took the evening shift at his work in the next town over. Keith showed Shiro around his old hometown; showed him the dry baseball field, the only school, where his friends used to live. They walked right past the train yard, but Shiro stopped.

“Keith.”

Keith sighed but turned.

Young boys and men were working, wielding iron or steel and chopping wood for the tracks. The uniform hadn’t changed at all in the past ten years, but it was under new ownership. A large man barked at the workers, giving orders and telling a few men to take a break. It was a well-oiled machine now, Keith’s history there buried under the soot and dirt. The train yard held no place for him anymore.

Shiro guided Keith away when he saw the light in Keith’s eyes return.

When they got back to the hotel, Keith discovered their room held two single beds, and Shiro had given him the bed by the only window in the room. His bags were on his bed, and Keith moved them. The moment his head hit the pillow, he was out.

Shiro sighed when he heard soft snores. He walked over to take Keith’s shoes off before he left to make a few collect calls, did his paperwork in the hotel lounge.

Crickets chirped outside when Keith walked out of the shower in wrinkled jeans and tight undershirt. The smell of honey-baked ham and mashed potatoes filled the small hotel room. Shiro sat on the floor by the foot of his bed, his white collared shirt unbuttoned and shoes off to the side. Keith’s plate sat next to him, waiting.

Keith tied his hair back, the black of his roots giving his hair an odd gradient.

“Thanks for the meal, Detective,” Keith said as he sat down. Shiro handed him a fork.

“Don’t mention it,” Shiro dug his fork into his mash, scooping it up and taking a bite, “Did you ever get that new identification card?”

Keith breathed out quickly, a smirk on his face. “No, but guess I should when we get back. I’ll send a letter to the government when we get back.”

“I can take care of it for you if you’d like,” his voice dropped low, almost sultry in the low lighting. Keith looked to Shiro, an honest man giving him an honest proposal.

“I’d like that, detective,” Keith answered, voice low.

The two finished their food in silence, an unspoken feeling hung in the air. When they were finished, Shiro placed their plates just outside their door and when he turned back around, Keith was reclined casually on Shiro’s bed, his hair cascaded on his toned shoulders.

Shiro shrugged off his shirt and hung it on a hook by the door. Shiro walked over and crawled onto his bed and used his hands to hover over Keith with his right knee for support. Keith looked up at him from behind thick lashes.

“I think you’re the only one who could pull off hair like this, Keith.”

Keith dragged a finger down Shiro’s chest before placing his hand on the muscle. “Glad you think so. I was thinking of letting it grow back out to its original color; figured I’d look like a bee-reject by now.”

Shiro let out an airy laugh, shifting his position to be lying next to Keith. Shiro pushed Keith’s hair behind his ear, the wet hair cooling his fingers. “You do,” Shiro said playfully, but his eyes shifted from Keith’s eyes to the man’s lips, “But I’d like to taste a bit of honey before you do.”

The statement hung in the air like an unanswered prayer. Keith searched Shiro’s eyes for any implication the man was baiting him, but his search yielded no findings. Keith moved and pushed Shiro onto his back, the position causing Keith to straddle the man on the small bed.

Shiro placed his hands on Keith’s hips as Keith felt up and down Shiro’s muscular chest. Keith imagined a strong torso underneath his shirt, and sitting on his lap, Keith felt Shiro’s hard-on pressed against him.

“A little excited, detective?” Keith teased.

Shiro smiled, eyes half-lidded. “Guilty as charged,” he said and gave Keith’s ass a light squeeze.

Keith bent over to connect their lips in a heated kiss. Shiro felt Keith up as they made out, and soon their pants filled the silence of the room. The bed squeaked under their weight as they stripped off their clothing. Keith took Shiro into his mouth, sucking lightly and using the flat of his tongue to draw out guttural moans from the detective. Shiro tugged at his hair before he could release himself in Keith’s mouth to change positions.

Shiro flipped Keith onto his back, Shiro himself getting off the bed and dragging Keith’s body to the edge. Shiro lifted Keith’s hips and Keith hooked his legs around the man’s waist. Keith let out an uneasy breath when Shiro slowly started to stretch him. Shiro whispered filthy words of encouragement, his voice low and titillating. Keith bit his hand when Shiro entered him, painfully slow and careful. Shiro waited for Keith to adjust to his size.

“Please, Shiro,” Keith said breathily, “ _Move.”_

Shiro moved slowly at first, and when Keith heatedly mumbled _faster_ , Shiro obeyed.

The bed rocked beneath Keith, the bedframe hitting the wall every now and then. Loud moans slipped from Keith’s wet lips as he clawed the bedsheets. Shiro grunted, the heat of being inside Keith stirring a white-hot feeling in the pool of his stomach. They rode out their feelings in the low lighting and came together, Keith releasing onto his stomach and chest while Shiro came inside.

Shiro pulled out, the mess dripping off of him onto the bed sheets. They took a moment to collect their thoughts, and when the moment was over, Shiro helped Keith into the shower. He ran the hot water for them and helped Keith clean himself. They dried each other off and dressed into boxers. Shiro draped his pajama shirt on Keith’s shoulders and lead him to the other bed. It was a tight fit, but the men managed to squeeze onto the single bed by laying on their sides.

Shiro caressed Keith’s cheek in the pale moonlight, the man nuzzling into his touch.

“Thank you, Shiro,” he whispered, “I don’t think I could’ve done this without you here.” Keith knew it was the man’s job, but he had hoped Shiro had felt the same way, regardless if the man was paid or not.

And he did. He didn’t take Mr. Kogane’s money. He asked to stay by his son’s side for as long as Keith needed him to be, and Mr. Kogane had only nodded and thanked him.

“I’ll be here as long as you need me to be, Keith,” he promised, voice no more than a whisper. Shiro pulled Keith into his chest and placed a chaste kiss on the man’s forehead.

Shiro played with Keith’s hair until his lover fell asleep. He stayed awake until Keith’s breathing became snores. Shiro hoped their remaining days together would be everlasting. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can like/reblog this work [here](http://grimkohai.tumblr.com/post/165730309764/missing)!
> 
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